


We Will Deal with It

by PurpleKitty



Category: Poirot - Agatha Christie
Genre: Bed-Wetting, Embarrassment, Gen, Hurt/Comfort
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2020-09-18
Updated: 2020-09-18
Packaged: 2021-03-07 23:20:00
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 964
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/26525848
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/PurpleKitty/pseuds/PurpleKitty
Summary: This is a scene that was supposed to be included in "It Is Always Darkest before the Dawn", but I decided to post it separately because I know not everyone is comfortable with bed-wetting/omorashi content.Basically Hastings wets the bed because of trauma and a nightmare. Poirot helps him.
Relationships: Arthur Hastings & Hercule Poirot
Kudos: 10





	We Will Deal with It

**Author's Note:**

> I'm once again asking for you to read the tags. If you don't like them, don't read the story.

All of a sudden, Poirot was awoken by a muffled groan. He was fully awake almost immediately when he saw Hastings was tossing and turning in the bed, mumbling something and whimpering, his face gleaming with sweat. All the grief and despair must have heavily influenced his mind. It was clear he was having a vivid nightmare.  
The detective switched the lamp on. All he wanted at that moment was to wake his friend up and put him at ease.  
_“Réveillez-vous, vous êtez en sécurité._ I am here, Hastings, I have you,” he said, gently shaking Arthur by the shoulder.  
It took a few moments for Hastings to completely regain his consciousness. He sat up on the bed, a glimpse of horror still visible in his blue eyes. He was still trembling and breathing heavily. He was also biting his lip which indicated he was bottling up some emotions.  
Poirot looked him in the eyes with compassion.  
“You have had a _cauchemar,_ a bad dream, yes?”  
Hastings nodded in response. Suddenly he froze, then looked down at the bed with growing panic.  
“Oh no,” he whispered. He looked even more upset than before. “Oh God, what have I done…”  
_“Qu'est-il arrivé?”_ Poirot asked him anxiously.  
Hastings looked down again and whispered in a quivering voice, “I'd like you to leave me alone.”  
“But why? What happened? You have to tell me,” Poirot was seriously worried, as he had no idea what could make Arthur behave like that.  
Hastings’ face went red at once. He looked like someone who'd been caught doing the most shameful thing in the world. He glanced at Poirot, but was unable to say anything.  
“I am not leaving until I find out what has you so upset. Whatever it is, you can tell me,” the detective said kindly.  
“I… I'm afraid… I've— well— I've wet the bed. I'm so sorry, I didn't mean to— This never happened before, I swear—” Arthur pulled the covers off of himself, revealing an unmistakable stain on the sheets and on his pyjamas.  
Despite his absolute aversion to all sorts of dirtiness, Poirot felt nothing but sympathy.  
“Oh, _mon pauvre_ Hastings, it is alright, this was but an accident, we will deal with it.”  
The younger man closed his eyes and sighed.  
“I just shouldn't do such a thing like a damn infant!”  
“This could happen to anyone, especially after traumatic and stressful experiences,” Poirot said sympathetically. He knew that Hastings was in a horrible state and feeling guilty of something he hadn't meant to do could only make it worse.  
Despite his comforting tone, Hastings’ eyes welled up with tears again.  
“I am childish, disgusting, and I'll understand it if— if you don't want to know me anymore.”  
“Look at me,” Poirot demanded, placing his hand on Arthur's shoulder. The unbelievably sad, teary eyes met his. “What are you even talking about? We have been closest friends for so many years. Do you really think I may want to abandon you just because your mental state has caused some trouble to your body?”  
Hastings didn't quite know how to answer.  
“I would never question our friendship over something like this,” Hercule stated. “I care about you deeply, no matter what your body does. Do you understand? Now all you have to do is clean yourself up and change. Do not feel guilty, you did nothing bad.”  
Arthur stood up, but then shook his head.  
“It's not true. I know you're lying just to make me feel better.”  
The detective felt almost offended by those words. But he knew that Arthur was not his normal self, so he just asked gently, “Has Poirot ever lied to you? And how can you think he is capable of lying to you for whatever reason?”  
“I don't know,” Hastings covered his face with his hands. “Sorry, I'm such a mess.”  
Poirot hesitated for a moment, and then just pulled his friend into a tight embrace.  
The younger man tried to squirm out of it at first.  
“W-why are you doing this? I'm so filthy and awful— and you will get dirty too, and—”  
“You are far more important than the cleanliness of my clothes. This is not something we cannot fix. Frankly speaking, I really wish this was our only concern...” the detective didn't want to hurt Hastings more by mentioning the death of his beloved. He rubbed Arthur’s back for a while. The dampness was unpleasant, but Poirot could not care less about it at that moment. “You could never be disgusting to me. Do you believe it now?” he released his friend and once again looked him in the face.  
Arthur nodded, but he still avoided eye contact. He shivered with cold.  
“Now you should have a bath and change before you get sick. Let me take care of the bed.”  
“Alright,” Hastings whispered. “Thank you.”  
He fetched a clean pair of pyjamas and went to the bathroom. Poirot pulled the covers off the bed to inspect the damage. There was a large wet spot on the sheet, and an unpleasant smell lingering in the air. But it wasn't a big trouble - all he had to do was change the sheet and call the launderette in the morning.  
He cleaned everything up meticulously. A few minutes later, Hastings returned to the room.  
“Are you feeling any better?” Poirot asked sympathetically.  
“Yes, but… I think I'd like to be alone from now on,” Hastings stared at the floor.  
Poirot understood that his friend was still embarrassed and needed some space.  
“Of course. Do not hesitate to come get me if you need anything. And we may forget what happened tonight if you wish. We all have accidents sometimes.”  
“Thank you so much, Poirot,” Arthur uttered a smile.

**Author's Note:**

> Forgive me, Agatha, for I have sinned...


End file.
